


Fear is the Heart of Love

by CosmoKid



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Crimes & Criminals, M/M, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 13:04:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,286
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10764828
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CosmoKid/pseuds/CosmoKid
Summary: Freedom isn't always what it's made out to be.





	Fear is the Heart of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I have literally no idea what this is

He knows something is wrong immediately. He can just feel it.

He’s known something is wrong for a while now. There’s a reason he’s began sleeping with a gun under the pillow again or why he’s really started to use the security video footage app he has on his phone. 

The moment his neighbor had offhandedly mentioned an over-the-phone questionnaire about his neighbors he was suspicious. Especially when Fred told him that they wanted to know the nicknames. Fred is a perfectly nice guy, if not a little gullible. Well very gullible, it’s one of the reasons why Grantaire chose the apartment. The less suspicious the neighbors, the easier it is to blend in. Fred probably didn’t find anything weird about it, but for Grantaire, it’s highly suspicious.

Probably because he used to use the same trick to track down people back when he still worked with the Les Amis. It was the most legal way he could find to track people, pretending to be a market researcher or part of the local council. Maybe, least illegal is a better way of describing it. 

It’s partly his fault really, choosing a fake name that meant he could use his real nickname hadn’t been one of his best ideas. He’d done it on the basis that he was less likely to fuck up if they still called him R or Arthur since the beginning was the same. Now, he’s angry with himself for it. It’s a stupid slip up.

Still, there’s nothing he can do about it now. 

The first sign of suspicion is that his post has been collected. He has a schedule (it’s easier to fit in if you can mimic the expectations of those around you) where he picks up his post at three o’clock in the afternoon every day so when he gets back to his apartment complex at five to three and his post isn’t there, he panics. 

It was there when he left in the morning. Someone’s taken it, post doesn’t just disappear. He stares for a moment longer before shaking his head and entering the elevator. There’s nothing he can do about it now.

On the ride up, he opens the security footage app on his phone and can immediately tell that someone’s tampered with it. He sighs heavily, shoving his phone in his pocket and readjusting the knife in his sleeve so it’s more accessible and that he’s gripping it. He’s very glad to be alone in the elevator. 

He debates not going up to his apartment, but rations that if someone is looking for him and knows when to collect his post to freak him out and that he has access to the security footage, they probably know where to find him if he’s a no-show at home. 

So he gets out at his floor, knife ready in his sleeve, and heads straight to his apartment. There are only two other apartments on the floor, and they all have larger apartments than him. There’s Fred, a middle-class, middle-aged guy who has more money than he knows what to do with but refuses to leave the apartment he’s lived in for the last two decades, and then there’s Martha and Natéa who are an expecting couple, several years older than he is. They’re all perfectly nice and fine neighbors, he doesn’t want them involved with whatever part of his past has washed up again. 

Hesitantly, he unlocks his door and opens it cautiously and slowly. He keeps it open only the slightest bit to ensure that if there are bullets about to rain on him, he has some sort of protection. He’s not sure how these doors fair against bullets and he’s not eager to find out.

When he sees no one in his field of view, he slips into his apartment, shutting the door behind him. He doesn’t lock it, nor does he lean on it (he could always be stabbed through the door), instead he stands in front of it, surveying his surroundings.

It’s only when he turns to look at his small kitchen, which he couldn’t see from the hallway, that he sees him, sitting casually on the counter. Well, fuck.

“Arthur, huh?” Enjolras drawls, his gaze fixed on Grantaire, “That’s a new one.”

“Enjolras,” he greets. He doesn’t let the tension drop in his body, but he loosens his grip on the knife. If Enjolras wanted to kill him, he could have done it a year ago, very easily. “Good to see you too.”

“You’ve got a nice place here.” Enjolras leans forward on the counter, playing with the gun in his hand. “All paid for legally, I assume?”

Grantaire scoffs, rolling his eyes. “If that’s your way of asking if I’m involved with the gang activity in Britain in any way, I’m not. I couldn’t possibly be that stupid.”

“Yet you sleep with a gun under your pillow.” It’s a fair observation, he does. “And you have a knife in your sleeve and some form of weapon in your boot, possibly another knife.”

“I’m a retired assassin Apollo, I have a lot of old enemies. There’s nothing worse I could do than not carry a weapon,” he points out dryly, finally leaning against the door. He still doesn’t lock it, he doesn’t trust Enjolras enough not to kill him.

He has enough reason to.

“Still with the nickname?” Enjolras looks amused now, it’s an expression he’d gotten familiar with in their last night together. “You’re a lot more than a retired assassin.”

There it is. Grantaire knew it was coming and he can’t blame Enjolras for bringing it up. He’d still be holding a grudge if he was Enjolras. He can’t blame if for holding a grudge against the guy who had infiltrated the group while working as an Interpol agent and nearly gotten the entire group killed, particularly Enjolras.

“And you’re a lot more than a sun god yet you let me call you that still.” Enjolras quirks a brow at him, clearly asking for more detail. “Any reason why you’re here? I doubt you’re just here to drop by and say hi.”

As Grantaire could have guessed, Enjolras determinedly ignores him. “Manchester, I wouldn’t have ever guessed it.”

“That’s kinda the point of going into hiding. People can’t guess where you’re going.” He knows Enjolras knows it, but he’s too anxious not to say anything even if it’s not helping.

He still doesn’t know why Enjolras is here, why he’s found Grantaire out after a year of no contact if he had to find him at all. Enjolras could have easily kept a tab on him while he was in hiding, he probably did. He could also easily be here to kill Grantaire which can’t be fun.

“One of the biggest cities in the country isn’t exactly the best place to hide. Statistically, you’re most likely to be in a city if we’re talking populations so the moment personal leads end, it’s where anyone could start.” Enjolras smirks at him as he speaks. It feels a little like he’s feeding off Grantaire’s fear. “I thought you always wanted to live in Amsterdam.”

He sounds thoughtful now as if this isn’t a tense and terrifying conversation that could easily end in death. 

“And bring my criminal past and possible enemies to the prettiest city in the world?” he asks, the edges of his mouth turning up in a smile. “You can’t always have what you want Apollo.”

Enjolras’ eyebrows furrow at that, his eyes hardening. “Can’t I?” he questions with a frown. He hops off the counter crossing Grantaire’s apartment to meet him at the door. “I think I could,” he murmurs, reaching out to cup Grantaire’s face softly.

Grantaire’s breath shortens and his heart begins to pound. He’s trapped between Enjolras and the door in a way that’s all too familiar to him. “Tell me Enjolras. Was there ever a moment where you didn’t know where I was? A moment where I was free?” he asks in a breathless whisper, his voice hoarse with nerves. 

“That’s two questions.” Enjolras is really frowning now. Grantaire can feel his breath on his skin.

“Just-” He falters for a second, trying to catch his breath. “Just answer the question Enjolras,” he sighs, closing his eyes for a second. 

“We didn’t track you,” he tells Grantaire, his voice grave. Grantaire arches an eyebrow. “ _I_ didn’t track you,” he amends. 

The _you were never free_ goes unsaid.

“How’d you find me?” He sounds desperate, like a drowning man.

“First we checked all the cities and places you’d ever mentioned. When you weren’t there, we checked all the areas in Europe with a reasonably large population and cross-referenced your name, nicknames, and any fake names you’ve ever used as well as your profile and any card details. When that didn’t work, we checked painting and crime and then we did it for smaller areas. We eventually scoured the airwaves for any reference of the letter R when we couldn’t find you anywhere. That’s how we got into contact with your neighbor Fred, he was more than helpful.”

“I’m aware of that,” he scowls, leaning away from Enjolras the best he can in such a small space. “He shares more than what’s good for him. He’s lucky it was you guys and not anyone else.”

Enjolras just hums in response, moving forward a little more, most likely in response to Grantaire leaning away. 

“We?” he asks after a few moments, “So it’s not just you?”

“Of course it’s all of us, when have you ever known us to do things by ourselves?” 

He thinks about mentioning the last time he saw Enjolras for a year when he’d gone on his first real solo mission with Enjolras. They were in contact with no one and that was the only reason he’d managed to stop Interpol from getting any of the group. He ends up holding his tongue about it, deciding that revisiting that night would do no one any favors.

“What did you tell them?” He’s genuinely curious, he didn’t think any of them would ever want to be in contact with him if they found out that he planned to sell them out to Interpol.

That had always been the plan: infiltrate the group, build trust with them, and eventually signal Interpol to their location when it was safe. He’d get his freedom and a clean slate, and they’d get the Les Amis.

It didn’t go down that way, not at all.

“That you wanted out.” He keeps it short, the edges of his mouth still curved down into a frown. “That you broke down that night and asked me to let you leave.”

He chuckles lightly at the idea, the only breakdown he’d ever had was about whether or not being a free man was worth selling out the Les Amis. “How’d they take it?”

“About as well as you’d guess.” Enjolras is searching his eyes now, his taller frame practically engulfing Grantaire. “Courf said that if he ever found you, he’d kill you and then never let you go again.”

Of course Courf said that. Courf was the one who’d initiated him into the group, Courf had been the one to keep him from running when it seemed that Enjolras hated him.

He had good enough reason to leave if Enjolras hated him, to infiltrate a group, you need the leader’s trust. You can hardly earn that if the leader hates you.

It turned out that Enjolras doesn’t hate him, or didn’t hate him, quite the opposite really. He may just hate Grantaire now though and he has all right to.

“Did they believe you?”

“I don’t know Grantaire. If you were in their place, would you believe it?” That’s the first time Enjolras has used his name and he uses it tenderly almost. He’s far too nice about it.

“Yet none of them tracked me down,” he notes. 

“They value your freedom and what you want more than they value what they want. That’s the point of what we’re trying to do.” Enjolras smiles lightly, almost in a nostalgic way.

“Freedom?” Enjolras just raises his eyebrows at him. “I never had freedom really and you know it. Just look around and I know you have, you saw the gun under the pillow. My apartment can be summed up as basic Ikea apart from a few things. What are they? Red accents Enjolras, fucking _red_ accents. Every fucking painting I do goes back to the exact same thing. Everything I do goes back to the same thing, everything comes back to you.”

He takes a deep breath after it all bursts out, trying his hardest not to stare at Enjolras’ lips. There’s not much else to look at, they’re so close together physically. Enjolras is smiling sadly at him, a predatory glint in his eyes.

The last time Grantaire had seen that, it had been the best night of his life. It had also been the last night he’d spent with Enjolras. 

“Why are you here?” he asks before Enjolras can say anything. He doesn’t want him to say anything he’s going to regret. “I know you’re not here for a friendly cup of coffee and a catch-up.”

Enjolras snorts. “As if you have anything but vodka in this apartment.” He’s not wrong. “We need your help.”

“Of course you do,” Grantaire sighs, finally letting the tension in his body drop. He hadn’t been expecting anything more no matter how much he’d hoped. “What have you possibly gotten yourself into that you can’t sort out by yourselves? Where on earth can my skill set fit into whatever you’re all doing?”

“It’s not anything that serious,” Enjolras scowls. He hates it when he ever gets undermined, it used to be Grantaire’s favorite thing to do. “We just underestimated a situation and we’re willing to admit needing help when we do.”

“We?” Grantaire questions, knowing full well that Enjolras has too much pride for that.

“They,” he corrects, rolling his eyes. Grantaire grins smugly. “They all miss you, we miss you, _I_ miss you.”

“They wouldn’t if they knew that the entire time I knew them, I was planning to sell them out to Interpol,” he says sharply, his own gaze hardening. He’ll be damned if Enjolras manages to guilt him into anything. 

“But you didn’t,” Enjolras reminds him, meeting his gaze determinedly, “That’s the important thing.”

“Right.” He doesn’t believe him and he knows that Enjolras knows it. “That doesn’t exactly smooth the blow of it, but sure, if you want to pretend I’m a good guy like you.”

“Don’t,” Enjolras warns him darkly. The hand cupping his face moves to the wall next to his head, effectively trapping him. “They wouldn’t have been that upset if you’d came back with me.”

“What did you expect me to do Enjolras? Go back with you and tell them that I was never really on their side?” He’s shouting now, tears pooling in his eyes. He refuses to cry, not in front of Enjolras. “Even if I could, which I couldn’t. You couldn’t expect me to face them. Interpol thought I was dead, I couldn’t exactly show up next to you after that. I wasn’t going to put you in more fucking danger than I already did! You guys don’t deserve that shit!”

“So running away was the right choice?” 

“Running away is what I do Apollo, I thought you’d have cottoned onto that already.”

“And you didn’t need to this time. You were a part of us, you are _still_ part of us. There was no reason to run away this time!”

“I have demons Enjolras, demons you don’t need to deal with. What happens when they catch up with me?”

“Then we would have to deal with them just like we’d do for any of us. They wouldn’t just be your demons, they’d be _our_ demons.”

“Don’t give me that bullshit. What about the fact that you don’t need to deal with them don’t you understand?”

“That doesn’t mean we wouldn’t! Our entire mission is to deal with things so others don’t have to struggle!”

“But you shouldn’t have to! You do it for innocent people, I have more blood on my hands that I can possibly wash off Enjolras, I’m not innocent!”

“You’re not a bad person Grantaire.”

“Yes I am, Enjolras, I’m a retired assassin. I’m a bad person, you can’t ignore that no matter how much you want to!”

“No. You’re fucking not. I don’t care if you don’t believe it yourself Grantaire because it’s true. You’re a good person. Do you really think I’d be here if you weren't? That I’d trust you?”

“Just stop.” He takes a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He knows what Enjolras is about to say and he can’t hear it, not now. Not that word. “Just… what do you need help with?” 

“It’s complicated.” Enjolras sighs, finally stepping away from Grantaire. 

“I’m sure you can explain it Enjolras, I know how good you are with words.” Grantaire pushes himself off the door, trying to even out his breathing.

“Can I just explain it on the way? It’ll take a long time.” Enjolras smiles softly, cocking his head to the side. 

“On the way? How do you know I’ll even agree to go with you?” Enjolras just raises his eyebrows at him, his smile turning into a smirk slowly. “Oh you bastard,” he mutters. Enjolras knows he’s not going to say no, he fucking knows it.

“I’ll be in the car,” Enjolras tells him with a smirk. Grantaire moves away from the door and makes to move to the kitchen, but not before Enjolras catches his wrist and presses a soft kiss to his lips before heading out of the door. 

“Right,” Grantaire mumbles. He takes a deep breath and heads towards the bathroom where he keeps his emergency bag with clothes, food, and supplies. He grabs the gun from his room just before going in. He takes a moment to stare at himself in the mirror, his face is flushed and his hair is wild. 

He thinks about not joining Enjolras and just staying in the life he’s built for himself here. It certainly would be easier, he could just continue pretending to be a normal person. He likes his life here, it’s not great, but it’s fine. It’s nice to be normal sometimes.

But then, he always feels like he’s missing something here. It’s just empty. He’s not suited to being a normal person, he knows it. He can’t stay in this nine to five life forever, he’ll go insane. As nice as it is here, it’s never going to be what he wants. And he can’t ever pretend that he doesn’t miss the Les Amis, especially Enjolras. 

Especially after that night. They’d finally kissed, they’d finally done anything other than argue. Enjolras had told him that he trusted him and that he cared about him and that he loved him and it was just so much for him. It was no wonder that they ended up in bed together. And after Enjolras had taken him apart and reminded Grantaire that he was his, he’d let him go. He’d just let Grantaire leave because he thought that was what Grantaire wanted. 

It’s not what he wanted, it’ll never be what he wants. Grantaire knows it. He knows exactly what he wants.

So he picks up the bag and he leaves his apartment. He leaves his normalcy behind to follow Enjolras. He has no doubt that he’ll always follow Enjolras, no matter where they’re going.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading :)
> 
>  
> 
> come scream with me on [tumblr](https://island-of-asteria.tumblr.com/)


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